


Even

by Transom (ThegoodshipRickyl)



Series: First Kisses [2]
Category: The Clash
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Paul and Topper are just overgrown schoolboys really, Tickling, playfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-01 05:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18793606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThegoodshipRickyl/pseuds/Transom
Summary: Paul/Topper, pointless fluff.





	Even

**Author's Note:**

> Some background info: This takes place during the recording sessions for _Give 'Em Enough Rope_ , which were so notoriously boring for Paul and Topper, that at one point they made an _actual_ dirt bike track inside the studio. Mick, who was busy being producer Sandy Pearlman's little shadow and learning how to actually make a record, was deeply unamused, of course. Everything else beyond that is pure fiction.

Paul was sick to the teeth of the studio. He had never thought that it was possible for every last drop of excitement to be wrung out of making music with your mates, but it had happened. The recording of _Give 'Em Enough Rope_ had become a true slog, with endless editing and dubbing and splicing and dicing…. Paul had begun to feel like he was the third wheel on a date with the two dullest accountants in the world, who were restricted to talk only about things that went way over his head, and couldn’t bear to crack a grin even if it could save them from falling asleep face first in their soup. 

 

Paul wasn’t alone in his boredom. Topper had begun to express dissatisfaction with the interminable recording process as well, and the force of their combined ennui had started to result in hijinks, of which Mick disapproved to the point of disgust, so much so that he had begun to turn them away from the studio if he and Sandy were working on something particularly… fiddly. 

 

The dirt bike track had absolutely been worth it, though. 

 

So it was a balmy spring afternoon when Paul and Topper found themselves roaming the streets at Mick’s exasperated behest. They found a park nearby, just down the road from the studio. It was quiet, but not completely empty; an old couple were walking their dog by the duck pond, a mum was kicking a miniature football around with her toddler, a group of teenage girls huddled around a drinking fountain. Paul wished for a football for himself and Topper, but had to settle for kicking at a pebble as they strode out onto the grass. 

 

“You think we’ll find something to do here?” Topper asked, skeptical. 

 

Paul shrugged. “Dunno. S'got to be better than all that, though.” He jerked his thumb back in the general direction of the studio. 

 

Topper gave him a small hum of agreement, but then he abruptly stopped walking at his side, his light footsteps ceasing their swish through the grass. “Paul. When was the last time you climbed a tree?” 

 

“Ten, fifteen years ago, maybe. Why?” 

 

Topper pointed ahead, to a stately old oak with a wide, rather inviting looking spread of low branches, standing in front of a hedgerow in a secluded corner of the park. “I’ll race you there,” he offered, conspiratorial. 

 

Paul felt foolish for the rush he got at the admittedly childish proposal, but his trepidation passed as soon as he saw Topper take off, and then they were flying through the grass with exhilarating speed, together. Topper was fast, but Paul was able to beat him with longer strides, crashing into the tree's thick trunk with a whoop just before Topper came crashing into _him_ , shouting when Paul grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. 

 

They fell to the soft grass and grappled, Paul ending up underneath, where he was unable to use his size advantage against Topper’s wiry strength. They were too breathless to laugh, but their gasps and grunts of effort came close, and it was the only sound apart from the rustling of the grass as they rolled and fought, hands scrabbling for purchase and legs tangling together. 

 

Paul couldn’t seem to do anything to get Topper underneath him, and he eventually ended up flat on his back, Topper’s surprisingly solid weight pinning him down. He had Paul straddled, with both his arms pressed to the ground at his sides, so all that he could do was kick and wriggle, helpless. 

 

Smirking, Topper leant forward into Paul’s chest, until their noses were less than half a foot apart. “Now we’re even.” 

 

Paul struggled anew, and this time, Topper rolled over easily, flopping onto the grass with a laugh. Paul flailed a hand out at him, slapping his belly and getting just a brief touch of warm skin under his fingers from where his shirt had ridden up. Topper tried to tug it down, but it was too late, and Paul was on top of him in a flash, tickling him mercilessly. 

 

“Oh, no. Fuck, no!” He tried to squirm away, but Paul had him exactly where he wanted him, and he sat down on his thighs to keep him in place, both hands worming their way under his shirt while Topper arched against him in vain. 

 

“ _Paul!_ ” He grabbed at both of Paul’s wrists, gasping with a mixture of laughter and distress. Paul finally relented and rolled off of him, not wanting his arms scratched up like he had been playing with a ferocious cat. 

 

“That was a dirty trick,” Topper said finally, as they both lay panting on the ground. After gathering his strength for a moment, he rolled over and punched Paul’s shoulder, seeming to hold back just enough to not break a bone. 

 

“Oi!” 

 

Topper smirked once more. “Even again.” 

 

Paul pulled up to sit with a groan, rubbing at his shoulder and giving Topper his best glare. He was still sprawled out on the ground, so Paul hovered a menacing hand over his stomach, causing him to fold up with a frightened squeak that almost sent Paul back to the ground in hysterics. Quickly, to avoid any further embarrassment, Topper scrambled up to a sitting position, close enough to Paul that their knees were just touching. Paul regarded him with surprise that he was willing to get so near, and wasn't sure what the blush he received in response was quite supposed to mean.

  
  


Paul was still catching his breath, but Topper looked like he was just getting started, and, not for the first time, Paul marveled at his energy. The way he looked reminded Paul of when he was behind the drums, at the start of a gig, when all was possibility; before the first chord was struck, before the sweat drenched his hair and the exhaustion of banging on a kit for two hours non-stop set in. There was a flush high on his cheeks, his eyes were bright, eager, his mouth just open…. 

 

Paul didn’t have time for another breath or another thought before Topper was surging forward, kissing him hard and fast like how he played the drums the second time he auditioned for the Clash, all determination when he knew plain old bravado wouldn’t be enough. It was only after his lips were on his that Paul realized he had been staring at him, that he had been unconsciously telegraphing what he wanted across the line that always seemed to connect them; Topper had just had the quicker timing, as usual. 

 

Too soon after he made these assessments, Topper was pulling away from him with a gasp, looking terrified, all red-faced and gawping wordlessly. Paul suspected that he was no better himself, struck dumb as he grappled with the fact that he had just been rather thoroughly snogged, by a bloke and his best mate at that. 

 

“Paul,” Topper choked finally. “ _Fuck_ , I... I dunno _what_ the fuck that was –“ 

 

“I didn’t mind.” Paul interrupted him, his head clearing as soon as he realized that it was the truth. 

 

“Paul….” 

 

“It’s alright.” Paul fidgeted a little, burying his hand in the soft grass to feel the cool earth. It was calming; it reminded him that, despite the looks of it, he was rooted in a reality that made complete sense. He wanted to take Topper’s hand and let him feel it too, to ease his obvious mortification. 

 

“It doesn’t have to be anything,” Topper mumbled. He was picking at the grass anxiously, not looking at Paul. 

 

“Why not?” Paul’s stomach flipped when he asked, and he sunk his hand more firmly into the ground, like he was pushing the whole Earth away from himself and Topper, just to give them a moment alone. 

 

Topper let out an incredulous huff of air. “What, really?” 

 

Paul rolled his eyes. “Yes, really.” 

 

Topper ducked his head as, unbidden, a smile that was shy and happy broke across his face. “Really?” he breathed again, more to the ground than Paul, before glancing up at him hopefully. 

 

“Stop _saying_ that.” Carefully, Paul reached out to touch his chin, tilting his head back up so he could kiss him. He took his time, so unlike their first, lifting his other hand from the grass so he could cup his neck and deepen it with a small moan of contentment. 

 

“There,” Paul murmured, their noses still touching. “We’re even.” 

 

Topper grinned broadly, and the breeze flirted with his hair where it lay on his forehead. Paul would have never admitted it, but he couldn’t help going a little soft at the sight; he really did have a beautiful smile. After a moment, Paul had to look away, just to keep himself from tackling him to the ground again and kissing him senseless. 

 

Topper seemed to have other ideas anyway. He slapped Paul’s chest lightly as he sprung lightly to his feet, then swiped the grass and dirt off his jeans, determined. “C’mon. We’re still climbing that tree.” 

 

Paul laughed shortly. “Why, so you can snog me up there on a limb? I can hear 'em now. _Paul and Topper, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G_.” 

 

Topper gave him a hand as he hauled himself up, his worn body protesting with what was sure to be a panoply of new bruises. He was slow to stretch back to his full height, and before he could, he found himself being kissed again, hot and forceful, slim, strong fingers pressing into his neck. He barely had time to respond, and then Topper was letting him go and making his escape to the old oak, swinging himself onto a lower branch with all the ease of his comic strip monkey namesake. 

 

“You’ll have to catch me first!” 

 

Paul couldn’t wait to get even again.


End file.
